


Magnetic North

by greenapricot



Series: Eventually the Birds Must Land [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-s9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7291924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie comes round the trolley as Laura steps back and it’s just the two of them. Just James and Robbie standing there in front of him after six months, nothing between them now but the air and all those words James sent into the ether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetic North

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Drafts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5434610). This will probably make more sense if you've read Drafts first.
> 
> A million thanks to Jack for the Brit-pick and beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

The hand is a voice that can sing what the voice will  
not, and the hand wants to do something useful.  
  
-The Language of the Birds, Richard Siken

__________________

  


It’s been nearly an hour since the little yellow text next to Robbie and Laura’s flight listing changed from expected, to arrived, to bags in hall, and still no sign of them. Every time the door to customs opens a jolt of nervous excitement shoots through him, every time somebody else emerges James feels a sense of both disappointment and relief.

He should have gone for a fag fifteen minutes ago, but they really could be coming through the door any minute now. Just as well, he’s already had far too many cigarettes today. Far too many for a week and here it is only Sunday morning, six days left to go.

It’s not the waiting so much as all the uninterrupted thinking that’s possible while waiting that’s the problem. And, well, no. It’s the waiting too. In retrospect sending those emails was probably not the best decision he's ever made, he’s still holding out hope it's not the worst. 

James reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth although he has no intention of smoking it here. It’s something to do with his hands and he can’t bite his thumbnail to the quick with the cigarette in the way. 

A woman standing next to him, also anxiously watching first the arrivals board then the door, shoots him a glare. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and returns it to the pack. He wants to sit but can’t keep still, settles for stuffing his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

He almost wishes he'd kept with tradition and worn a suit. He’s not entirely certain he’s ready to face whatever’s coming in old jeans and a hoodie, not enough layers between him and what Robbie might say. Or worse, not say. He pulls his coat tighter around himself even though it’s far from cold in the arrivals hall.

He waits. He tries to calm his churning thoughts. He is only marginally successful. 

The door is opening again. 

He sees Laura first. She flashes him a tired smile and waves. James waves back as Robbie appears around the corner behind her pushing a luggage trolley. He’s wearing the shirt. 

Robbie doesn’t wave, hands busy, but he smiles too. It’s a smile that takes ten years off his face and James spends the entire agonisingly long wait as Robbie makes his way round the barrier trying to calculate the exact meaning behind the look in his eyes; trying to suss out whether or not he’s read the emails.

Then Laura is next to him, reaching up to give him a hug, a peck on the cheek, a _thank you for fetching us_ , while Robbie parks the trolley off to the side. Robbie comes round the trolley as Laura steps back and it’s just the two of them. Just James and Robbie standing there in front of him after six months, nothing between them now but the air and all those words James sent into the ether. 

The arrivals hall is chaotic: people greeting each other, the constant announcements, the throngs jostling past with overfull suitcases on squeaky-wheeled trolleys, the muffled sound of aeroplanes taking off. But all James can hear is the whoosh of his pulse in his ears. All he can see is Robbie. 

James is staring. He hasn’t said anything yet. He can’t seem to make himself step any closer. This could be the last time he stands this close to Robbie. This is the point where everything suddenly goes horribly wrong. _Don’t fuck this up, Hathaway_. 

Then Robbie takes two steps forward and pulls James into a hug. It’s entirely awkward and entirely wonderful. So wonderful it takes a moment of standing there with his arms awkwardly pinned to his sides, amazed at that fact Robbie’s arms are around him at all, before James shifts, slides his arms around Robbie and buries his face in his shoulder. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Robbie says, voice muffled into the crook of James’ neck. And then, tentative and gentle: the brush of lips. Robbie’s lips. James leans into the embrace, turns toward Robbie and when their lips meet it’s electric. That’s patently ridiculous but that’s what it is. Electric. Even that first taste of dry lips and stale overnight aeroplane breath. 

It’s all James can do not to devour him on the spot. Robbie’s arms tighten, pulling James to him, his tongue meeting James’ and they are properly snogging now, here in the middle of Heathrow in front of God and everyone. Including Laura. 

Oh, shit. 

Laura. 

Jame takes an abrupt step back. Robbie looks bereft, doesn’t let go of James’ coat sleeve as he turns toward Laura. And she is… smiling, a gentle knowing smile. 

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” she says and starts pushing the trolley toward the exit. 

James stares after her, trying to regain some equilibrium. He can still feel the ghost of Robbie’s lips, and it’s not imagined this time. He turns to look at Robbie for the first time since breaking the kiss. Robbie is smiling at him, his expression quite fond. 

“All right?” 

“Yeah,” James says. “Yeah, I think so.”

Robbie gives his arm a squeeze then draws his hand down along James’ back and gives him a gentle push toward the exit. 

James follows Laura down corridor after corridor in a daze. He is moving through the maze of Heathrow, he’s walking but he’s not paying any attention to his feet. If it weren’t for the occasional touch of Robbie’s hand he’s sure he would drift off into nothingness, come unmoored. He has come unmoored. 

Robbie kissed him. Robbie kissed him in the middle of fucking Heathrow right in front of Laura. Robbie only stopped kissing him because James stopped. 

 

When they finally make it out of the terminal Laura is leaning on the car waiting for them. Apparently she was walking much faster than they were. How long did he stand there gawping after she headed off? How slow was he walking? He unlocks the car and starts putting the suitcases in the boot while Robbie takes the smaller bags to the back seat. As Robbie passes Laura she gives him a kiss and he says something to her that James doesn’t catch before climbing into the back seat next to the bags. James tries not to think about whether Laura kissing Robbie at this precise moment is some sort of subtle message, a claim staking on her part. But she wouldn't be subtle if that were the case, she'd just come right out and say it. 

“It’s okay,” Laura says handing James the final suitcase. He nods, keeps his head down as he puts it in the boot and shuts it. “Really,” she says, her hand on his arm. He glances up then and she gives him a crooked smile. 

“Okay,” he says. But he’s afraid to let himself actually believe it. 

Laura takes the passenger seat and Robbie is already dozing in the back before they leave the car park. She keeps up both sides of the conversation telling James about New Zealand, her family, the Lord of the Rings tour her nephew took them on, filling the silence that would have been awkward if it had been let to sit. 

He should be talking, he should be responding to Laura’s stories with more than the occasional noncommittal nod, but he is stuck on the memory of Robbie’s lips on his, Robbie’s hands on his face, his neck, his arms, his back, Laura’s smile as she watched them. The complete improbability of the last thirty minutes. 

When they get to the M40 Laura falls silent in a way that feels natural but he suspects is deliberate. It’s his move.

James keeps his eyes straight ahead, concentrating on the road in front of him, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. 

“You read them,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Robbie read them,” Laura corrects. “And he told me what they said. Not in so many words but I got the gist.” 

James nods. “But I—” He tries again. “You said it was okay.” 

“I did.”

“How can— That doesn’t— shit. Sorry. I’m a bit lost here.”

“You two. If we hadn’t gone away you’d still be dancing around each other like you were before. All those years. And after what you said to Robbie before we left about not assuming people know how you feel. James, it came as a surprise that you sent the emails, but it was the sending that was the surprise not the content. Not to me. I'm glad you finally followed your own advice.”

He takes his eyes off the road for a second, gives her an assessing look. 

“You knew?” he says, only half a question. “Before?”

“I have eyes, James. And I’ve met you. I’ve seen you interact with people, people who aren’t Robbie. You’re different with him.” 

“You never seemed to mind me always being around.”

“Of course not.”

“But I—” Laura waits for him to finish but he doesn’t, the missing words hanging in the air between them. 

“You’re in love with him,” she says.

As much as he wants to there’s no point in denying it. He nods, glances at her. Nods again. 

“I am,” he says, almost a whisper. Laura already knows and yet it’s so hard to make his mouth form the words, as if by saying it out loud he is cursing the whole thing. But she said she was all right with him kissing Robbie, he owes her this truth and so much more. He admitted it, to another person, and the world didn’t collapse in upon itself. _Okay. Now do it properly._ “I am in love with Robert Lewis.”

When he glances at Laura she’s smiling again, a soft knowing smile. “Good,” she says. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a length of time that can only be calculated by motorway junctions and number of lorries passed before Laura speaks again.

“He barely slept on the plane,” she says. “He was worried how it would go, what would happen when he saw you, more than he’d let on. I know I’m telling tales out of school and I wouldn’t but I think you should know that and I know he’s not going to tell you.”

James flashes her a smirk. “Guess I can take the snogging as a sign of a desirable outcome.”

“I’d say so, yes.”

James smiles, sighs, takes a deep breath, tries to relax. He’s afraid to ask what happens next. Laura would answer, he’s sure of it, but he’s not entirely certain he wants to know. For now, for the rest of the drive to Oxford, he’s living in a lovely sort of limbo where everything is possible. In twenty minutes he’ll be dropping them off and all of those possibilities will close down to one. He’s glad to have the road to concentrate on, something to keep him from drifting away into fantasy entirely and never returning. Except fantasy and reality may be mingling more than he ever thought possible. 

 

When he pulls to a stop in front of their house they are both asleep. Laura stirs when he shuts off the engine but Robbie snores on. 

“Does he always snore?” James asks. 

Laura grins at him. “You could find out.”

“Asking you isn’t the way to do that?”

She shakes her head. “Take him home.”

“Home?”

“Your home, James. Take him home with you. Sort this out between you. One kiss at the airport isn’t going to tell you what you need to know.” 

James means to reply but finds he’s just staring at her, mouth hanging open. This is madness. This is the least likely of all the many, many possible outcomes he’s imagined. He must have fallen asleep while driving. It’s a lovely dream but it’s a shame it will end in him crashing the car and killing them all. Things like this don’t happen and even if they did they certainly don’t happen to him. 

“I—” he starts. “You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, I am.”

James shakes his head in disbelief but Laura’s expression doesn’t change. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Yes.”

“And Robert?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. But I’d say yes. We did talk about it. Take him home, James. I’ll see you both in the morning.” 

And then she’s out the car door and knocking on the boot to get him to open it; already pulling out her suitcases before he makes it all the way out of the car to help her. 

“I can manage,” she says, “but thank you.” She stands on tiptoe, kisses him on the cheek and turns, wheeling her bags toward the house. 

Okay, so, not dead in a car wreck then, still very much alive and about to take Robert Lewis back to his flat at Laura’s insistence. James watches as Laura shuts the door behind her then gets in the car and heads for home. 

 

* * *

 

Robbie wakes when James turns the car off this time, mumbles something and then sits up from his slouch against the door and unbuckles his seat belt. 

“Hey,” Robbie says, catching James’ eye in the rearview mirror. 

“Hey,” James responds. Robbie smiles at him, sleep rumpled and looking surprisingly relaxed considering he just spent nearly 24 hours negotiating air travel. “We’re, um— We’re at my place,” James says, not sure how to broach the subject. 

“I gathered,” Robbie says and gets out of the car leaving James no choice but to follow him, open the boot so he can retrieve his luggage and walk with him toward the door. 

James unlocks the door to his flat, pushes it open and turns to let Robbie in. And there he is standing in the doorway with his suitcase and his awful shirt and a frankly mischievous grin on his face. 

“I’m not leaving me suitcase in the hall,” Robbie says. He steps over the threshold, drops the suitcase by the door, grabs the front of James’ coat and pulls James to him. 

This is real. This is really, really real. Robbie’s hands are on him. Again. He can’t breathe properly. He read the emails and he didn’t run, he’s done the exact opposite of run. He’s here and he’s gazing into James’ eyes and James can’t look away. Laura sent them here. She reassured him, she gave him permission. And now here he is so close to something he’s wanted for so many years he can almost taste it, but he can’t get himself to move. There is still the possibility that he’s reading this entire thing wrong, that this is some sort of cruel joke. This is absolute madness. 

“No more thinking,” Robbie murmurs. “That big brain of yours is only going to get in the way.” Then he slides his hand up James’ chest, around the back of his neck, pulls his head down and kisses him and, _oh God_. This is deliberate. Robbie is fulfilling his fantasy. James moans into his mouth, cups Robbie’s face in his hands and runs his tongue over Robbie’s bottom lip, nips at it with his teeth. Robbie’s hand tightens on James’ nape, carding through his hair as he deepens the kiss. All the times James thought about this, all the times he dreamt about it; the reality is a thousand times better. 

He wishes he had more hands; he wants them everywhere, wants to touch every part of Robbie at once. That he can’t touch his face, pull him closer, get his shirt off, and work his hand into Robbie’s trousers all at the same time is a crime. But the most amazing thing is that Robbie seems to be as desperate to get his hands on James as James is to get his hands on him. They fumble, bumping into each other and the wall, pushing each other’s coats off. James goes for the buttons of Robbie’s awful shirt as Robbie tries to pull James’ hoodie and t-shirt over his head all in one go and there is a tangle of arms and fabric that is as ridiculous as it is incredibly arousing. 

James flings his hoodie and t-shirt to the side, toeing his shoes off as he does, and grabs for Robbie again, pulling him in, pushing his horrible shirt down off his shoulders. He starts unbuckling Robbie’s belt all the while leaving kisses and bites along his jaw, behind his ear, down his neck. Robbie moves his hands from James’ back, where they have been exploring naked skin, down across his hips and then to James’ hands which have undone Robbie’s belt and are working his trousers.

“There’s no rush, lad,” Robbie says his voice breathy.

“Fuck,” James says. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

“Don’t I? You said years. How many years?”

“Nearly all of them.” 

Robbie looks amazed, overwhelmed, a bit sad. 

“James,” he says, resting a warm hand on James’ chest. “Why did you never say anything?”

“You were straight. I was a mess. You had Laura. I couldn’t bare to lose what I did have,” he says in a rush before he can stop to think about whether this is a question he wants to answer at all. “So many reasons.” He sighs, shakes his head and brings his own hand up to cover Robbie’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Robbie says moving in closer, pulling him into a hug. 

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who couldn’t sort out my own shit and—”

“Stop it, if we’re going to do this, try this, there’s one thing I need you to do.” James moves back a bit so he can see Robbie’s face properly. “No more beating yourself up, okay?”

He nods. Robbie gives him a look. “Okay,” James says.

“Now can we stop standing around half naked in the entryway and get on with it?”

“Cheeky,” James replies, swats Robbie’s arse, and pulls him toward the bedroom.

James is already unbuttoning his jeans as he crosses the threshold, pushes them to the floor, his pants following quickly behind, then socks. He turns, naked, cock half hard, to see Robbie standing in the doorway watching him. 

“Something wrong?” James asks.

“Not at all, just… You’re quite fit aren’t you, with your rowing.”

James raises an eyebrow, tries to ignore the blush he feels blooming on his cheeks, his neck, his chest. 

“So I’ve been told,” he says.

He watches Robbie watching him until Robbie starts to unbutton his own trousers. Then James steps forward, pushes his hands out of the way and pulls Robbie’s trousers and pants down as he goes to his knees in front of him. 

“Oh,” Robbie says and the grin James shoots up at him is nothing short of wicked. 

He nuzzles Robbie’s cock, the space between cock and hip, brushes his dry lips along the length of him, gives the tip a lick, and sucks him down all in one go. Half hard he can take all of him, and James revels in the feeling of Robbie’s cock hardening and lengthening as he sucks. There is a moan from above him, Robbie’s hand comes to rest on the back of his head, and James lets out an answering moan.

It’s a delicious feedback loop and soon he can no longer quite take all of him; fully hard cock bumping against the back of his throat and James chokes a bit. It’s been years since he’s done this, he’s out of practise, but judging by the noises Robbie’s making he doesn’t seem to mind. When Robbie pulls out a bit to give him some air James puts one hand on his arse and pulls him back in, circling the base of his cock with his other hand to make up for his gag reflex. 

James’ cock is hard, leaking and bobbing against his stomach as he moves. He resists the urge to stroke himself, concentrates on Robbie, the smell of him, the taste, the sounds he’s making—barely words but occasionally there is what sounds like a _James_ —the sensation of silky hard skin moving across his tongue, the roof of his mouth. Robbie begins to lose control and starts to fuck his mouth. A deep guttural moan escapes James and he relaxes his throat as much as he can, hollows his cheeks and implores Robbie, without words, to keep going. Robbie gets the message and _James, oh sweet bloody_ — and Robbie is spilling into his mouth, salt, and sweet, and bitter, and glorious, and nearly collapses on top of him. 

James catches him, supports him for a stumbling half walk to the unmade bed, and they all but fall onto it, half tangled together. He turns his head to Robbie and licks his lips. Robbie reaches out and follows the path of James’ tongue with his finger. 

“You enjoyed that,” Robbie says, a look of wonder in his eyes, finger still on James’ lips. 

“Mmm,” he replies and sucks the finger into his mouth. 

“Don’t think I’m up for another round just yet.”

“Mmm,” he hums again still suckling Robbie’s finger, left hand teasing at his own cock. 

“You though.”

“Mmm,” James moans and rolls over half on top of Robbie abandoning the finger and capturing his mouth. Robbie opens to him immediately and kissing him is even better with nothing between them but their naked skin. 

James shifts, rubbing his cock against Robbie’s inner thigh, and before can think about what he’s doing he’s rutting against Robbie—the kiss turning messy, desperate—and moaning into his mouth. There is almost enough friction. Almost. Until Robbie grunts and rolls them, pushing James onto his back. James whimpers at the sudden lack of contact, the lack of body heat, but the way Robbie is looking at him, like he wants to devour him, warms James again instantly. 

Robbie reaches for James’ cock, fingers thicker than James’ own closing around it, and James moans again. Robbie smears precome down along the shaft, twists his hand as he strokes. 

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispers. “Not from this side of things.”

“’S not much different,” James gasps. “You’re doing fine…”

“But?”

“Could be… wetter.” Robbie grins, takes his hand from James’ cock, spits in his palm, and brings the hand back again wonderfully wet and warm. 

“Yes,” James moans. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want, James.”

“I want, I want— oh _fuck_. I want everything.” His is voice comes out breathy, gasping with each stroke of Robbie’s hand. “I want this, your hands on me. _Oh_ — I want my hands on you. I want to suck you off again, and again, and again. _Ah_. I want things I haven’t even thought of yet. I want you. I want you so fucking much. You have no idea. I want you to fuck me. I want you inside of me. I want you to _fuck_ fuck me so hard and so deep that I can feel you the next day. Every time I move. All day long. I want— _oh fuck. Oh God_ , Robbie. _Please_.” And he is coming, arching up off the bed thrusting into Robbie’s hand, words distilled down to moans and curses and _Robbie, Robbie, Robbie_. 

When James comes down enough that his breathing has evened out Robbie is lying next to him, still that look of wonder on his face, trailing his hand up James’ side. James huffs out a laugh. 

“What?” Robbie asks. 

“Nothing, only… I’m half expecting to wake up, to have dreamt this whole day.” He turns his head; Robbie is gazing at him fondly. James leans in and kisses him slow and deep, none of the desperate urgency of earlier. 

“Welcome home,” James says when he finally breaks the kiss. He can’t tear his eyes away from Robbie. Can’t help but watch him, catalogue every line of his face from this close. “You really are real,” James murmurs.

Robbie nods his head against the pillow. “Aye, lad.”

“And you’re here. In my bed. With me.”

“Got it in one.” 

James lies there and grins dopily at Robbie until they both drift off to sleep.

 

* * * 

 

There is a light shining in his face, bright and warm and unexpected. It’s been overcast and raining for weeks and now Robert Lewis is in his bed and the sun is shining again. It would be the worst sort of sentimental nonsense if it weren’t actually happening. 

James squints at the afternoon sun streaming through the window. Robbie is asleep next to him, face turned toward him and away from the invading sunbeam, and he's snoring just a bit. So there's that question answered. James watches the gentle rise and fall of Robbie’s chest, realises his own breath has fallen into rhythm. He gently brushes a hand down Robbie’s cheek, but he doesn’t stir. He’ll have to wake him soon; if Robbie sleeps straight through the night it will only take him that much longer to get over the jetlag. James slides out from under the duvet and heads to the bathroom for a pee and a quick shower. 

Standing in the steamy bathroom James glances at himself in the mirror as he’s tying a towel round his waist; there is a collection of love bites at the base of his neck and along his collarbone. Tangible evidence that he did actually have sex with Robert Lewis. Robert Lewis who is right now sleeping in his bed. He knows this because he can’t keep from peeking around the corner into the bedroom to confirm that he is still there. 

His eyes look different in the mirror too, his whole face does, and he realises it’s because he’s smiling. Has been since he woke up to see Robbie sleeping next to him. The smile reaches his eyes and it changes his whole face. He wonders for a moment if he should be concerned at the state of his mental health if he can’t remember the last time he looked in the mirror and saw this expression on his face. But even that thought isn’t enough to banish the grin.

 

On the way to the kitchen he passes his laptop on the coffee table amongst the usual detritus. He sits down flips it open and starts typing an email to Robbie before he fully registers what he’s doing. 

_You are here. Actually here. In my flat. In my bedroom. In my bed. I know how this happened but I still don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how Laura can be okay with this except that she very clearly is, would never have sent us off to my flat together if she wasn’t. I suspect she may be a better detective than either of us. Even despite that one drunken kiss it seems that this whole thing between us was less of a surprise to her than it was to you. Possibly it was less of a surprise to her than it was to me as well._

_I don’t know how I’m ever going to properly thank her. I’ll make you both dinner tomorrow, that will be a start. There will have to be a lot of dinners._

_My jaw hurts, not from sucking you off but from smiling. I can’t stop. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. It’s going to be rough at crime scenes._

He shakes his head at his own ridiculousness and hits send anyway. It’s all out in the open now, there is no actual reason to hide his feelings, except for his pride, but that went out the window a long time ago where Robbie was concerned. He snaps the laptop shut and heads to the kitchen.

He finds half a baguette, cheese and ham, some cherry tomatoes, and the last of the rocket; puts the kettle on, grinds some beans, piles the provisions onto his largest chopping board along with a knife, and balancing two mugs and a mostly empty pint of milk, carries it and the cafetiere into the bedroom. 

Robbie stirs as James puts the chopping board down on the bedside table with an inelegant thump, barely managing to keep the milk and one of the mugs from toppling to the floor. 

“Good morning,” James says as he fills the mugs with coffee.

“Is it?” Robbie asks.

James shakes his head. “No. It’s about three.”

Robbie hmphs. James hands him a mug of coffee, drops the towel from around his waist and climbs into bed, pulling the duvet up over his legs and placing the chopping board in his lap. Robbie gives him a look of mock-shock.

“We’ll get crumbs in your bed,” he says. James shrugs. 

“The sheets could do with a washing. Besides,” he ducks his head taking a sip of coffee, “I’m half afraid that if I let you leave the bed you’ll disappear.”

“I have no intention of leaving, not now you’ve brought coffee and food.” Robbie says and pulls James down for kiss made slightly awkward by coffee mugs and trying not to upend the food. “I may need to visit the loo at some point though.”

James smiles at him again then looks away. They’ve had sex, they are sitting naked in his bed, and even so he can’t quite look Robbie in the eye while he’s thinking about how much he wants this. He resists the urge to find his phone and send Robbie another email. 

James picks up the knife and starts cutting the bread, hands a piece to Robbie who reaches over and adds cheese and ham then eats it in two bites. 

“Didn’t realise how hungry I was till there was food in front of me,” he says around the second bite. James hands him another piece of bread and pushes the tomatoes and rocket in his direction.

 

James pops the last cherry tomato into his mouth as he watches Robbie eat the last piece of cheese. He moves the chopping board to the bedside table, refills their mugs and settles down further under the duvet, sitting up just enough to sip at his coffee. He looks at Robbie, looks away, wraps his hands around the mug and takes another sip. He’s smiling again. He hasn’t stopped. He glances back at Robbie who is watching him.

“What?” James asks.

“I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

“I don’t—” James starts and is ready to deflect, to take the path of least resistance and years of self-preservation fueled habit and deny the truth of it. But it is true and if it’s true what’s the use in not saying it at this point? “I haven’t been this happy… possibly ever. Not for years anyway…” He lets the sentence trail off into nothingness, takes a sip of coffee and carefully studies the fabric of the duvet. He still can’t keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. 

“Don’t be daft,” Robbie says. “Me? I make you happier than you’ve been in years?” 

James nods and glances at him tentatively.

“I’m afraid so.”

“You said before, by the door, that it had been years. That’s— You’ve been—” Robbie shakes his head looking thoroughly perplexed and James takes pity on him. Of course he’s fallen in love with the one person in the world who is worse at talking about his feelings than he is.

“In love with you for years, yes. As pathetic as that may be.”

“It’s not pathetic. It’s surprising is all. I’m a bloody detective and I didn’t see it.”

James lets out a huff of breath that’s almost a laugh. “That was the idea, you not knowing. I never dreamt, well I did but— I never thought it would come true.”

“You daft sod,” Robbie says and grabs James who barely manages to put his mug down before he’s being thoroughly snogged. 

It is glorious. Beyond glorious, there is nothing outside this room, nothing outside this bed, nothing beyond Robbie’s tongue tracing his lips, pushing inside. Robbie’s hand around the back of his neck, then caressing his shoulder, his chest, his nipple fuck. Robbie chuckles, pinches the nipple again, then again, and James is all but writhing under him. 

“You like that, eh?” Robbie asks and James can only moan in response. He’s getting hard again, shifts so his cock is pressed against Robbie’s, hooks a leg over Robbie’s thigh, and moans into his mouth. 

The kiss is languid, less urgent than before. They lose track of time, the light changes, dims as the sun moves around the corner of the building. At the change in light James realises that it’s getting late, pulls away from Robbie and has to resist Robbie’s hands pulling him back in.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” James says, pressing his hard cock against Robbie’s thigh for emphasis. “We should get up.”

Robbie groans, half disagreement with James’ statement, half moan. James kisses him again before sliding away. 

“Really though. You should go outside for a bit, go for a walk. It’ll help reset your internal clock to be out in the sun.”

“Sun’ll set soon,” Robbie says kissing along the line of bruises on James’ collarbone. 

“Mmm,” James says. “It’ll still help though.” And he gives Robbie one last kiss before putting some space between them. 

“That’s what Laura said too,” Robbie grumbles. 

“She’s a smart woman,” James replies pulling the duvet off Robbie as he gets out of bed. 

 

James comes out of the bedroom pulling a hoodie over his head to see Robbie—wearing a shirt that is thankfully free of paisley—stuffing badly folded clothes into his open suitcase. 

“Walk, then?” James says, half question half statement. 

“Yeah,” Robbie replies. James grabs both of their coats off the back of the sofa but manages to drop Robbie’s before he’s got a hold on it. They both bend down to pick it up at the same time and knock their heads together. 

“Argh, sorry,” James says overbalancing and ending up sitting on the floor with Robbie leaning over him, one arm on the sofa above James’ right shoulder to steady himself. 

Ridiculous. He is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. He’s nervous. The sort of nervous that leads to bowing at women in botanical gardens. His palms are actually sweating. 

“Sorry,” James says again, shifting sideways and rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans. There’s not enough room for him to stand up with Robbie leaning over him like that. “You okay?”

“‘Course, lad. Head like an anvil, me.” And Robbie smiles at him, a big affectionate smile. He stands up, moves his hand from the sofa to James’ shoulder giving it a squeeze and then offers him a hand up. James tries to not take it, to hide his sweaty palms, but Robbie grabs his hand anyway, pulls him up. And then they are standing there in the middle of James’ living room holding hands. 

Robbie’s got that contemplative look, the same look James has seen so often while he’s pulling the final pieces of a particularly troubling case together in his head; sorting everything out before he reveals the thread that connects it all. It’s comforting to see that expression after so long, but disconcerting as well; the pieces Robbie is puzzling through are all about him. He tries not to wonder what conclusion Robbie will reach. Robbie is studying him and James can’t look away, his stomach is churning, he can feel his ears going pink. This is ridiculous, and he has no idea what his face is giving away. Robbie grins at him. 

James looks down at their hands, still clasped together, and then meets Robbie’s eyes and smiles. 

“You’re all right,” Robbie says and turns toward the door pulling James along with him.

 

* * *

 

They turn left out of James’ flat with no particular destination in mind and walk, the two of them matching stride through the streets of Oxford like any given day over the past ten years. It’s muscle memory, walking with Robbie like this, so instinctive his body has fully re-acclimated before his mind has even caught up to the fact that he missed this. It feels as if his world has once again settled on its axis where before it had been wobbling precariously. 

Random strangers keep flashing him odd looks and smiles as they walk. The odd looks hardly register, he’s had his fair share of those over the years, but after the third smiling stranger he’s beginning to wonder what exactly is going on. What’s different about this chilly Sunday that’s making people smile of all things? When they round a corner onto a particularly busy street and the first person they pass looks at him askance and the next flashes him a grin, it finally hits him. People aren’t smiling at him—those of them that don’t think him mad for walking around grinning like an idiot— they’re smiling _back_ at him. What’s different is he’s had sex with Robert Lewis. What’s different is the man that he’s been hopelessly in love with for more years than he’s willing to count just may have similar feelings for him. What’s different is everything.

A huff of laughter escapes him at the thought and his smile brightens. He feels strangely buoyant. They are walking streets they’ve walked countless times before but the exact quality of Robbie’s companionship is something subtly and breathtakingly new. 

He bumps shoulders with Robbie and Robbie puts his hand on the small of his back as they cross a street, something he’s done a thousand times before, steering James out a door or around a corner. But it’s more than that this time, a gentle and lingering pressure until he draws his hand away. Not just a touch but a promise. And just that thought sends little shots of joy, like tiny electric shocks, to the pleasure centre of his brain.

He’s not sure how long they walk or even which streets they take, but their aimless wandering—or possibly their stomachs, he’s pretty sure he can hear Robbie’s growl—have led them to their favourite Indian place. A beguiling whiff of spices drifts by on the cold breeze as they round the corner. 

“Curry?” James asks his stomach giving an answering rumble.

“I could murder one.”

“Good thing I'm off rota till tomorrow then,” James says as he holds the door open. 

Order placed they stand shoulder to shoulder in the too warm restaurant, cheeks flushed from the cold and sneaking furtive glances at each other. This new thing between them feels delicate, not quite solidified, and James doesn’t know how to have a conversation out in public that doesn’t give them away. He’s not ready to let the rest of the world see that there is now more to their relationship than there had been a few hours ago. As if it is something that needs protecting, to be kept safe from the world; a butterfly just out of its cocoon, wings too soft to take flight.

Clearly sex is bad for him and has driven him mad.

He can live with that.

 

Back at the flat, takeaway procured, James grimaces at the coffee table strewn with papers, cold case files, half read books open face down, an empty wine bottle; the discarded shirts, tie, and more books strewn across the sofa. It looks exactly like what it is, the flat of someone who’s been working too hard and not getting enough sleep. If he’d known he was going to be bringing Robbie back here he would have hid the evidence. He crouches down, pushes his laptop to the corner of the coffee table and starts stacking case files and guitar tabs on top of it, clearing a space for them to eat. 

“Not up to your usual standards,” Robbie says gesturing at the detritus on the table. The look on Robbie’s face says it’s meant to be a joke but it hits a little too close to home for James’ smile to quite reach his eyes. A photo falls out of the last errant book as he places it on top of the stack that’s been growing for months at the end of the sofa, fluttering to the floor by Robbie’s feet. It is of a Hathaway family James hardly recognises for the looks on their faces; Mum, Dad, Nell, and him all squinting into the sun, the farmhouse behind them. They look happy. They likely were happy judging by his age; about eight or nine. Before… everything. Back when the centre still held. 

“It's not been the best six months,” James says in a fit of sudden honesty. The book was his Dad’s, his own before that. It has more underlines and notes in it than all the others and he has been reading and rereading it, both the printed text and the notes crammed into the margins, trying to make some sense of the man, of his life, of his own life. Robbie picks up the photo, looks from it to the book still clutched in James’ hand, then looks at James again.

“I would have come you know. If you’d told me at the time.”

“I know,” James says. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“No one should have to be alone at a time like that.” Robbie puts the carrier bag down in the cleared spot and sits on the sofa next to James who is still crouched on the floor. 

“You would have flown halfway around the world just to watch me lose my shit. I—” James looks up at the ceiling carefully not looking at Robbie. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“You think I care about that?” 

James shrugs, “Maybe I do.”

“That's the problem with you, always trying to do everything on your own,” James shoots him a look. “Yeah, yeah. Pot, kettle. I know. But that doesn't make it not true. Needing help isn't a sign of weakness.”

“If you say so.”

“James.” 

“Robert.” James shakes his head, turns to look at Robbie. “No, I’m fine. Really. I maybe wasn’t but… The past few hours have rather put a new spin on things.”

Robbie gives him an assessing look and apparently likes what he sees because he smiles and starts taking containers out of the takeaway bag. James watches him for a minute before he grabs the empty wine bottle and takes it to the kitchen, returning with plates, forks, glasses, and an unopened bottle of red.

“I haven't got any beer in,” he says apologetically holding up the bottle. 

“‘S all right. I'm so knackered I’ll probably fall asleep after one drink anyway.” 

“Have to find some way keep you awake then,” James says with a smirk as he puts the bottle on the table then slides onto the sofa next to Robbie and grabs for the vindaloo.

 

They’ve made it through most of the food and more than half the bottle—or James has more like, Robbie’s still nursing his first glass—and with the curry and the wine and Robbie’s presence James is feeling pleasantly loose limbed and relaxed. He refills his glass and slouches back against the cushions, sipping his wine and watching Robbie finish the last of his aloo gobi.

And he must be staring because Robbie wipes at his cheek self-consciously. “Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” James rolls his head left to right against the back of the sofa in an approximation of a shake of the head. “Wine comes in at the mouth / and love comes in at the eye; that’s all we shall know for truth / before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.” And he lifts his glass, raising it to Robbie first, and then takes a drink. 

“You’ve had that much have you?” Robbie asks, smiling fondly.

“Not really,” James says. “It’s just… I still can’t quite believe it. You here with me. Like this.” He shifts so that he’s not sitting next to Robbie so much as leaning his entire body against him, touching from shoulder to knee, and tilts his head sideways onto Robbie’s shoulder. Robbie puts his arm around him, pulling him in even closer, and they settle in together. The curtains are open and the room is bathed in sunset light painting Robbie’s face with oranges and pinks. It brings to mind a different sunset, soon after which James took a walk across Spain. But he ended up back here in the end. Maybe he will always end up here. He is a compass and Robbie his magnetic north. 

And without Robbie, well, the state of his flat is a testament to what life without Robbie brings. And now, in the light of Robbie’s return and the new developments in their relationship, he has to admit he's been letting things slip the past six months, not job things but life things. But that all seems so far away now, so inconsequential. It’s as if this day has expanded to fill all the empty space that’s been gathering around him for the past six months and here, nestled against Robbie’s side, he can only barely remember what that emptiness was like. He’s made it to the summit of a mountain he was sure was impossible to climb and from here things that were only ever the barest far away hopes suddenly seem reachable for their visibility.

But there is a loose thread in the fabric of this magnificent day and as much as he’d like to just ignore it he can’t quite. Can’t help but worry at it. And maybe the wine has gone to his head because his metaphors are getting out of hand. 

James unfolds from his slouch, puts his now empty glass on the table and picks up the pack of cigarettes that’s lying next to his laptop, twirling it between his fingers. He sent Robbie an email while Robbie was asleep in his bed, and he’s tempted to send another right now despite the fact that he’s sitting next to him. It would be easier to type the question he doesn’t want to ask, to get it just right before he asks it, than to say it out loud. And if the answer is the one that makes sense, that this is some sort of pass Laura’s given Robbie, that things will go back to the way they were once James drops Robbie off at home tomorrow, well. 

Laura sent them to sort things out between them and he should have got clarification of exactly what she meant by that. That would have been the right way to start this, with all the facts, before he went to his knees and let himself get so thoroughly lost in the moment. But he couldn’t keep himself from running headlong into something that looks so much like something he’s wanted for so many years. And for once in his life he hadn’t wanted to know the answer. He’d just wanted. He wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything. Wants it so much his teeth hurt. 

Someday he’ll master the skill of leaving well enough alone and enjoying what he has while he has it, but today is not that day. As always there is that one part of his brain that won’t quite let him relax into anything good. He can count on one finger the times in his life something that seemed good at first stayed that way in the long run, and that one time is when he asked to be Robert Lewis’ bag man and Robbie accepted him. 

And maybe the possibility of finally getting something he’s wanted for so many years he can barely remember not wanting it has made him a tad melodramatic. But it’s not melodramatic if it’s true. 

Robbie’s right, his big brain is getting in the way.

“Penny for them,” Robbie says as if he knows exactly where James’ mind is taking him. 

James tosses the cigarette pack onto the table, sits back against the cushions again and gazes at the unlit fire.

“Today has been amazing,” he says. “Truly.” He turns to Robbie and smiles but he can tell from Robbie’s answering look that the smile doesn’t quite pass muster. “But I think I must have missed something along the way.” He takes a deep breath. “What about Laura?”

“We’re all right, me and Laura.”

“All right as in you get one night with me to get it out of your system or all right as in you’re splitting up but still friends?”

“Neither.”

“So you— What?” That was not the response he was expecting. “Robert, are you saying you and Laura and I…”

“No, no. Not like that. Unless, maybe…” Robbie shakes his head and puts his hand on James’ knee and James finally meets his gaze. It’s possible there is a blush creeping up Robbie’s cheeks but it could just be lingering sunset coloured light. “You've heard of polyamory?”

“I— Yes,” James says, and something starts to unclench in his chest. This is getting more surreal by the second. “Not sure how I feel about it though, the use of both Latin and Greek roots in one word.” 

“Give over,” Robbie says giving James’ knee a squeeze.

“But that’s…” James starts but he can’t find any more words. Robbie continues regardless of his sputtering.

“Laura’s got some friends down in Queenstown and they were… They’re good people the three of them, a bloke and two women. The women are quite good friends and both women are in relationships with the bloke. They’d been doing it for years.” James raises an eyebrow. Robbie raises one right back. “The relationships. And, yes, sex too. Any road, after I read what you wrote, once the shock wore off and I told Laura, well… We thought… She thought… Maybe we could try something like that. Me with you and me with Laura.”

James’ world threatens to tilt off its axis once again.

“Are you— You're saying you want a polyamorous relationship?”

“If you think that could work for you, yeah.”

“With Laura and I? With both of us?”

“Wouldn't work very well with only one of you.”

“I—” James starts. “I can’t believe that you— Really? You really want this? With me?”

Robbie smiles an affectionate but exasperated smile at him. “Of course I do. You still doubt it after all that?” he gestures toward the bedroom. “How I feel?”

“No,” James shakes his head and fights the urge to tack a sir on to the end of the sentence. “I don’t doubt you, exactly. I doubt myself. That you could want me.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, lad. I know I’m no good at this, and I’m sure I never will be, but if you don’t think I want this then you don’t know…” Robbie pauses, takes a deep breath. “I care about you. More than I’ve cared about anyone but Laura since Val. More than I cared about Laura for a while there.” James blinks at him, Robbie continues.

“You scared me that day when you kissed me and then never mentioned it. You seemed to want it so much in that moment. And then nothing. So I let it go, was afraid if I mentioned it… Afraid to ruin our friendship…” Robbie trails off meeting James’ gaze and James lets himself take in the depth of affection that is clear in Robbie’s eyes. “I should have said it then, before we left. I should have known that I wanted to say it. Spared you all this but I— Why is this so hard to say?” Robbie shakes his head, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.

“I find email is an effective mode of communication,” James says. Robbie grins at him in relief.

“So we’re doing this, then? I know it’s not exactly condoned by the church.”

“Well,” James says, his sardonic tone ruined by the gigantic smile on his face. “We have already had sex, you're a man, and we're not married. I suppose the damage has already been done. It’s worth a shot,” and he lets his smile break free completely. He can barely keep from laughing he’s smiling so big. It feels like a piece of his heart has unfurled; ready to take flight. “O the joy of my spirit—it is uncaged—it darts like lightning! It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, I will have thousands of globes and all time.” 

Robbie gives him the ‘I can’t believe you’re quoting poetry right now’ look but it’s belayed by the exceedingly fond smile on his face. 

“That was a yes then? To trying this?”

“No,” James says, “this is a yes.” And he turns, sliding his leg over Robbie’s and settling onto his lap, taking Robbie’s face in his hands and planting a solemn kiss, like a promise on his lips. 

“Good,” Robbie says. And he’s smiling too, a smile that lights up his entire face. James can almost feel his heart swell with the joy of having that look directed at him and there is nothing in the world that could possibly keep James from kissing Robbie again, so he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly stole James' line about the Latin and Greek roots of polyamory from a post on saw on Tumblr some time ago.
> 
> James paraphrases Yeats (The Second Coming), then quotes Yeats (A Drinking Song) and Whitman (A Song of Joys).


End file.
